


Transmute

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Inline with canon, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Pre-Slash, Rain, Tattoos, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-26 21:58:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17754224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Tetsuya hesitates in the doorway, unsure of his welcome in spite of the silent tilt of the umbrella Kasanoda gave to him on the street, but the tatami shifts under his feet to give away the motion of his weight, and Kasanoda looks up to turn the set of his frown on Tetsuya instead." Tetsuya is afraid of imposing on his unlikely savior, but the only concerns Kasanoda Ritsu has are ones he can solve with a word.





	Transmute

Kasanoda is waiting when Tetsuya emerges from the bathroom. It took Tetsuya some time just to struggle out of his rain-wet clothes and into a borrowed shirt that fit reasonably well with the jeans cinched to belted tension around his hips; longest of all was working out the damp of his hair, first by hand and then under the application of a towel pressing in against the locks. It’s only after Tetsuya’s hair is curling into the humid-damp waves around his shoulders that he realizes there’s no brush in the guest room Kasanoda has offered for his use, and that he’s unlikely to be able to force his hair into anything like tidiness by hand. He fumbles over that attempt for a few minutes, trying to return the weight into the high ponytail it was in when Kasanoda found him huddled at the side of the pavement, until finally he has to admit defeat and contents himself with winding it up into a bun that feels as precarious as it surely looks. It’s enough to keep the damp of the ends up and away from the worn-soft of the t-shirt Kasanoda offered him, though, and that’s enough for Tetsuya to feel at least approximately decent before he draws the door open to rejoin his unlikely savior in the other room.

Kasanoda is sitting on the floor at the far side, his head ducked forward and his knees drawn up in front of him so he can rest his wide-canted elbows against their support. He’s still wearing his unbuttoned school uniform, but his wide-legged position and the creases of a scowl set into his face give him more the look of a delinquent than the middle schooler he must be. The sight of him makes Tetsuya hesitate in the doorway, unsure of his welcome in spite of the silent tilt of the umbrella Kasanoda gave to him on the street, but the tatami shifts under his feet to give away the motion of his weight, and Kasanoda looks up to turn the set of his frown on Tetsuya instead.

“Oh,” he says, and drops a hand to push at the floor and scramble to his feet. It’s a clumsy movement, awkward and fumbling rather than gracefully threatening, and Kasanoda hardly glances to meet Tetsuya’s gaze again once he’s standing, only offering the other a flicker of attention before he looks away towards the door and stuffs his hands into his pockets to hunch into a position that could be threatening or self-defensive, depending on the perspective of the viewer. “Did those fit okay?” His voice is as gruff as his position, the tone of it pulling his words towards a protest in spite of their meaning, but Tetsuya’s skin is flushed with the warmth that that same gruffness offered him instead of the cold chill of the street where he was sitting, and it doesn’t seem fair to return that kindness with suspicion.

He ducks his head instead, inclining into a nod even if Kasanoda isn’t looking at him to gauge his reaction. “They fit very well,” he says. His hair slides against the back of his head, shifting like it’s thinking of giving way; he lifts a hand to steady it so he can pull the elastic holding it up into another loop. “And they’re drier than mine, which is much better.”

“Yeah,” Kasanoda says, still without looking up. “You were really soaked.” There’s a breath of silence as they both stand still, caught in the stasis of their own self-consciousness; then Kasanoda takes a breath and rushes on, his voice running rough over the speed of his words. “What were you doing out there on your own?”

Tetsuya can feel his whole expression go blank, his face tightening as if turning itself into a mask at even this vague reference to the sprawling mansion he stormed away from this morning, to the shouted insults that chased him out the front gate. There’s no way for Kasanoda to recognize him as who he is; he’s always been far less involved in his family’s work than his father had wished, has never taken a leading role in any of the responsibilities his father demanded of the group. Kasanoda would never have brought him back here if he knew who he was; his words are no more than casual interest, even if the roughness of his tone makes them sound an accusation. Still, Tetsuya’s shoulders tighten, Tetsuya’s breath catches, and then, before he can even think what to give by way of answer:

“I don’t mean to pry,” Kasanoda says, grimacing as if he’s committed some appalling blunder as he shakes his head. “You’ve got your own stuff. Everyone does, I know that. I just mean if...if you need a place to stay, for a few days, or for a while. I’ve--”

“Young lord!” The voice comes hard on the heels of the door to the outside drawing open, the words dropping as quickly as their speaker ducks into a bow. The newcomer is a tall man, broad in the shoulders and with his features half-hidden behind dark sunglasses and a crisp suit to cover his skin from neck to wrist. He disregards Tetsuya as entirely as if the other wasn’t there at all; his attention, like his bow, is entirely turned towards the disheveled middle schooler on the far side of the room. “We were told you brought a guest home with you after school. Is there anything you or your visitor require from us?”

Kasanoda’s shoulders hunch up under the dark of his coat, lifting so far the hem rises by a centimeter enough to show a stripe of his pale shirt all around the top edge of his waistband. “We’re fine,” he says, his face coloring to a shade approximately the same as the short-cut flare of his crimson hair. “We don’t need anything.”

“Are you wet, young lord?” the man asks without straightening from his bow. “If you remain in your damp uniform you will catch a cold.”

“Nah,” Kasanoda says, and shakes his head hard. “I’ve got plenty to change into here. We’ve got it taken care of.”

“As long as you are sure,” the man says, and finally straightens to consider Tetsuya. There’s no judgment in his eyes any more than there is any indication of recognition before he ducks into a bow. “Good evening.”

Tetsuya dips forward into a bow of his own without speaking, but his gaze slides across the man’s shoulders and against the line of his collar, where his forward position is lifting the white away from his skin to expose a fragment of the back of his neck. There’s only a moment of attention; then the man straightens once more, and retreats back out the sliding door in obedience to Kasanoda’s wishes. He draws the weight shut between them again, barring the rhythm of the rain hitting the puddles outside with the thin of the door, and Tetsuya and Kasanoda are left alone in the room.

There’s a moment of quiet. Tetsuya chances a glance at Kasanoda but the other has his head turned towards the door, his gaze fixed on the line of the shut entrance as his cheeks burn with color. Tetsuya can’t imagine what has embarrassed the other so badly, can’t guess as to the cause for the self-consciousness flaring to vivid red over his face, until finally Kasanoda ducks his chin and gusts a sigh free of his chest.

“Yeah,” he says, with so much weight on the word it sounds more like resignation than anything else. “Like I said. You’re welcome to stay here if you want but--” as his shoulders come up in a harsh shrug, “--I get it if you don’t want to stick around, too.”

Tetsuya blinks. “What?”

Kasanoda jerks his head towards the shut door without looking up. “Our man,” he says shortly. “You saw his tattoo, right?” Kasanoda lifts a hand to scrub at the back of his neck, as if he can feel the weight of the ink under his own unmarked skin. “I could see that staying on the street would be better than under a yakuza roof.”

Tetsuya looks at Kasanoda for a long moment, at the lines of self-consciousness carving themselves into the other’s face for something that Tetsuya hadn’t even thought to comment upon. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone in his family ashamed of their connections; he doesn’t know that the idea has ever occurred to any of them. It’s only a recent thought for himself, something that has bloomed and grown to full strength in the span of the last few months; and here is Kasanoda Ritsu, the heir to the Kasanoda-gumi, apologizing to a complete stranger for bringing him in out of the rain and giving him dry clothes and the offer of a roof. It’s enough all on its own to counter whatever chilling effect the stern lines of the other’s features might have on Tetsuya’s gratitude; with the overwhelming generosity Kasanoda has already shown him, Tetsuya can feel his heart melting within him as if ready to pour itself into the shape of the other’s uncertain frown. He stands still for a long minute, Kasanoda’s pants belted around his hips and Kasanoda’s shirt soft against his skin; and finally he draws a breath, and takes a step forward to the boy himself standing in front of him.

“I can’t take advantage of your hospitality,” Tetsuya says, speaking as gently as he can form the words. Kasanoda’s shoulders tense, his head comes farther forward, and Tetsuya keeps speaking before the other has a chance to answer. “But I would be delighted to take up residence with your family, if I can have the opportunity to do something to support you in turn.” Kasanoda’s head comes up, his eyes go wide with shock, and Tetsuya flickers a smile and ducks his head forward into the sketch of supplication. “Might there be a place for a new addition to your family’s followers?”

Kasanoda’s breath rushes out of him all at once. “Oh,” he blurts; and then, with a hasty nod to back this up, “Yeah, of course.” He lifts a hand to push through his hair again, with force enough to stand it on end were it not already short enough to achieve that on its own; his forehead creases, his mouth tightens. “Are you sure?”

Tetsuya smiles with more perfect ease than he has felt in long, long months. “Yes,” he says, and feels the shape of commitment blossom under his skin like ink spilling out to write the color of dedication to this group, to this family, to this man over the blood of the family that has always been a burden to him. “I’m sure.”


End file.
